Somebody to Love
Page 43

“I can use the nail gun,” Nicky said now. “My mother said so.”
“Really?” James said. “Well, if she tells me that herself, I’ll show you how.”
“Mommy!” the kid bellowed. “Mr. Cahill said I can use his gun!”
“I did not say that.”
“James,” Parker said, appearing at the top of the hill, sweaty and beautiful, a red bandanna around her blond hair, “he can’t use the nail gun.”
“I know, and I didn’t tell him he could.”
Nicky scowled at James and flung a little dirt down the stairs.
“Come on, Nick, leave Mr. Cahill alone. Why don’t you fill up Beauty’s water dish, huh? Make sure it’s nice and cold.”
The kid trotted off obediently.
“You better have a talk with him about going in the water,” James said, turning his attention back to the ancient, splintering staircase. “He tells me he’s a great swimmer.”
“He is, and he already knows.”
“Maybe you should get one of those leashes they have. Make sure he doesn’t decide to jump off the dock, like his mother.”
“I’m not going to leash my child, James.” Her voice was sharp. “He won’t go swimming without me. He grew up at Grayhurst. He knows the rules.”
“So did my sister.”
Parker looked away. “I’m sorry,” she said in a gentler tone. “I’ll talk to him again. But please don’t tell me to use a leash on my son. He’s a good boy.”
James nodded, tore up another chunk of wood. “So how are Mr. and Mrs. Paragon?”
“Are you jealous? Is that what this is?”
“Hey. I’m just the help.”
“You’re not the— You know what? I think I’ll strangle you. With a leash. How would that be?”
“I’d die happy, so long as I was in your golden presence.” He smiled at her, perversely happy to see her irritation.
She rolled her eyes and turned to go.
“Parker.”
She stopped.
“I’m sorry. I just—” Your kid is giving me chest pains. “Your kid doesn’t like me.”
Her face softened. “Sure he does. He likes everyone. Nicky! Come here, honey!”
“Shit,” James muttered. The kid cantered over.
“Do I get to use the nail gun?” he asked, chewing on the ear of a stuffed animal.
That stuffed animal…
“No, you don’t get to use the nail gun. Mr. Cahill might stay for lunch. We can have a picnic on the dock and maybe go swimming after that. How would that be?”
“Could I use the nail gun then?” Nicky asked.
James was only half listening. The stuffed animal was familiar. “I like your rabbit,” he said.
Nicky spit out the ear. “His name is Elephant. ’Cuz he has big ears.”
“I see.”
James looked at Parker, who suddenly felt the need to look out to sea. “I think I gave you that rabbit. When you were born,” he said.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I’m pretty sure I did.”
“No. Someone else gave it to me.”
“Mr. Cahill’s right, Nicky,” Parker said. “He brought you that in the hospital.”
So she remembered.
“You brought me Elephant?” Nicky repeated.
“Yep.”
“Can I use your nail gun, then?”
Parker laughed, but Nicky was serious. “Sorry, pal,” James said.
“Come on, Nicky. Let’s finish the flowers.” Parker turned and walked back toward the house.
“I don’t like you,” Nicky said.
“Sorry to hear that,” James answered. It was more mature, he was almost sure, than saying, I’m not sure I like you, either.
* * *
“HOW’S THAT, MRS. K.?” James asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. Maggie Beaumont’s ancient tenant was a tyrant; this was the fourth time James had rearranged her bulky living room furniture in three days.
“It’s wonderful, honey!” she chirped. “I’m finally getting the hang of feng shui!”
Or James was, as the muscle of the operation. “Great,” he said. “Can I do anything else for you?”
“No, you’ve been an angel! It’s true! Besides, I’m having dinner with Maggie and that nice husband of hers tonight. Do you know him? Mahoney?”
“Malone. I was at their wedding, remember?”
“Of course I do, dear. You’re quite a good dancer. Malone, you’re right, that’s his name. For some reason, I can never remember!”
James smiled. Mrs. K. was a sweetheart, even if she was a despot. And a spy. Still, it was kind of nice to have someone caring when he came and went.
He went upstairs to the tiny apartment, got a beer from the fridge and sat on the floor. The only furniture left was a bed, a little kitchen table and two chairs. But he’d be leaving soon, so it didn’t really matter.
The kid had been here for five days. Parker’s stairs were nearly finished. And that was a problem, because James was running out of things to do.
He’d gone to see Mary Elizabeth yesterday and sat through The Holy Rollers in 3-D! for the second time, which definitely registered him for sainthood. Had a near miss with his father, but luckily, he’d caught a glimpse of his father’s battered truck from Mary Elizabeth’s window and said his goodbyes before dear old Dad had appeared.
He’d told Dewey he’d help with a few things at the bar. The door to the men’s room stuck, a windstorm had blown the gutter off, a faucet leaked in the kitchen. If James was slow and lazy, he maybe had a week’s worth of excuses to stay in Gideon’s Cove. Real life was waiting. It was time to get back to work.
This morning, he’d had a phone interview with an old crony of Harry’s, who was a partner at Goldman Sachs. James was fairly sure a job offer would be coming, the old-boy network in play, despite—or perhaps because of—Harry’s felony. He’d have to move to New York, not that he really wanted to, but a job was a job. A buddy from law school had even offered to sublet his Brooklyn apartment for a year. It would be stupid not to take it.
Except he didn’t want to leave Parker. Even the kid had his moments. Well, one moment, anyway. James had been at the hardware store this morning, shooting the shit with Rolly and Ben, and picked up a pair of lobsterman gloves for Nicky. The kid had gone wild. Wore them all morning, chasing the dog around the yard, digging with them, trying to eat lunch with them.
“You give really good presents,” Parker observed. Then, as if realizing this was too intimate a thing to say, now that they weren’t together anymore, she’d sidled off to start the dishes.
That was about as close as they’d come to a conversation lately.
A knock on the door startled him.
Speak of the devil. “Hey,” he said, opening the door. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” She smiled. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
“This is really cute,” she said, looking around at the empty rooms. He was going to have to buy a bottle of the shampoo she used and keep it around for an occasional hit, because he was incredibly pathetic. He glanced at her; she was staring at him expectantly.
“Yeah. Um, how’s Nicky?”
“Since you left him two hours ago, you mean?” She grinned.
Okay, so it was a stupid question. “Yes.”
“He’s excellent. We had an early dinner at Lavinia’s, and the two of them are playing Nintendo.”
“‘Soldier of Fortune’?”
Parker laughed. “She does own that one, but no. This is Mario Brothers or something. Anyway.” She sat down on one of the two chairs. “How are you?”
Ah. So this was a booty call. There was nothing wrong with being used for sex. Right? So why was he pissed off?
“I’m fine. You want a beer, Parker?”
“Sure. Thank you.”
He got her a Sam Adams and poured it into a glass. This was Parker Harrington Welles, after all.
“So what are you doing here?” he asked, handing her the glass.
“Um, just went for a walk. Thought I’d check on you.”
“Want to fool around, then?”
“What? Oh. Uh…” The tips of her ears flushed. “I thought we could talk.”
“What would you like to talk about?”
She set her beer on the table. “Are you mad at me, James?”
He didn’t answer. Because the answer was, of course, yes. He hadn’t realized it until now.
“Something on your mind?” she asked.
“Not really.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“No.” Funny, he used to know how to talk to women.
“Well, what do you want, then?” Her voice was sharp.
You. All I want is you. I want what I saw in the kitchen when Ethan was here. I want your kid to like me. I want you to love me. “Sex would be great, if that’s what you’re here for.”
“Okay, you’re being an ass. I’ll go now.” She got up and went to the door, and if James had a pin, he would’ve stuck it in his eye, because he was an idiot.
“Parker, wait.” She stopped by the door, turned and folded her arms over her chest. Not exactly conducive to soul-baring, but who could blame her? “Look,” he began, running a hand through his hair. “I know you and Ethan have a kid together. And I know what a great guy he is.”
“What’s your point?”
“I also know that when he was with you, he was in love with someone else.”
Her jaw tightened. “I fail to see why—”
“I don’t have that problem.”
Her mouth opened a little, and her eyes widened.
“I don’t want to be nothing to you, Parker. I don’t have to be…ah, hell, I don’t know. But I miss you. I’m with you every day and I miss you, and I hate being near you and not being able to… This summer’s been so…”
This was careening toward idiocy. Talking sucked. He took her by the shoulders and kissed her. Hard. Pushed her against the door and kissed her, that beautiful, soft mouth, just kissed her with all the pent-up frustration that had been building in him for the past week. He slid his fingers into her cool, smooth hair and tilted her face for better access to her mouth, his kiss softening as she opened her lips and let him taste her, and please, God, he wanted her so much that his damn heart was about to burst.
She pulled back, her breathing shaky. “Does this place have a bed?” she asked, and James could definitely see why people believed in prayer.
* * *
“JAMES! JAMES, DEAR! I need a tiny favor!”
Mrs. Kandinsky’s peeping voice came clearly through the heating vent, piercing the warm, drowsy fog.
“Is that your other girlfriend?” Parker whispered.
“I was trying to keep you two apart,” James said. He leaned over the bed and shouted, “Be there in a few, Mrs. K.!”
“Thank you, dear! You’re an angel!” she chirped.
“I should get back, anyway.” Parker propped her head on her hand and looked at him a long moment, her face serious. “You’re not nothing to me, James,” she said gently, and the words felt like a gift.
“Glad to hear it,” he murmured, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I do want something with you,” she said. “But to be honest, I have no idea how to do this. Whatever it is, it’s going to be glacier-slow, okay?”
“I like glaciers.”
She smiled, and there it was again, that aching pressure in his chest. Love, or a heart attack. Kind of the same thing.